


London, 3am

by ZaliaChimera



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Cute, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24804016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: Eugene would normally love London at 3am, before the clubs let out, but after all the restaurants and theatres close. Right now though, jet-lagged as hell, he just wants a coffee.
Relationships: Jack Holden/Eugene Woods
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	London, 3am

London is never really quiet. The best it gets is quieter than rush hour, like now, 3am; before the clubs let out but after the restaurants and theatres are closed. Normally Eugene would love it; night wanderings can give you a great view of a city that’ll add real colour to an article. Right now though, when he’s only just arrived after a long delayed flight and he still has an article to finish before his deadline, he just hopes that there’s a coffee shop open to keep him from resorting to the convenience store near his hotel.

He passes a couple of bars and clubs, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his overcoat as he weaves past the crowds waiting to get in and the occasional drunken reveler.

He’s starting to actually consider the convenience store coffee when he finds a place that looks open. it’s kind of cute; the window made up of lots of small squares of glass with wood trim, a couple of potted bushes outside the door. The neatly painted sign says ‘De Luca’ and a little bell rings when he opens the door. It’s almost painfully quaint and it might even have put him off if he weren’t so desperate for caffeine. The inside though is mercifully chintz free with dark wood and fabric upholstered chairs and heavy tables.

It’s quiet but not empty and the guy at the counter looks up from his pink DS and glances at Eugene.

“Hey there!” he says, leaning forward and grinning. His face is all freckles with a scruff of stubble and mess red-blond hair and he is far too chipper for 3am.

“Hey,” Eugene says, glancing up at the menu boards. After his stint as a barista in college, he has sworn never to be the person who does’t know what they’re buying. There’s a pretty dazzling array for a non-chain place. “Y’know,” he says, because it’s not like there’s a queue to hold up, “just tell me what’s good.”

The guy, his nametag reads ‘Jack’, hums softly to himself. “For an all-nighter, probably a Rocket Launcher.”

Eugene raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t see that on the menu. “What’s in it?”

“Quad shot of espresso and we call you a cab when you’re ready to collapse.”

“That sounds terrifying,” Eugene replies. “I’ll take one." 

"Brave man,” Jack says, grinning at him. “That’s uh… have you got a student card?”

Eugene blinks and shakes his head a little bashfully. “Oh, no! I’m not a student. Not for a long time.”

Jack’s grin widens. “Oh well, it’s on me then.”

“What? No! I can pay!”

“You can give me your name,” Jack replies, ignoring the ten pound note that Eugene pulls out. “So I know who to call for, I mean,” he adds when Eugene doesn’t reply.

“I’m right here and it’s not that busy,” Eugene points out, looking around at the mostly empty cafe.

Jack gives him a look that would be a pout if not for the sparkle of pure mischief in his eyes. Eugene sighs, but he can’t stop the answering smile that curves his lips. “Eugene,” he says. “Eugene Woods.”

Jack positively beams at him, like he’s the best thing ever and Eugene feels his stomach do an odd little flip, mouth going dry. 

“Awesome,” Jack says. “Find a seat. I’ll bring it over.”

Eugene looks around while Jack rummages around making the coffee, and he doesn’t find a seat, just goes to lean at the end of the counter, arms folded as he watches Jack.

Jack catches sight of him and looks startled but then gives him another one of those smiles and oh, it’s been a while since anyone’s done that to him.

“So, where are you from Eugene?” Jack says, sounding like he’s relishing saying Eugene’s name. Eugene finds his gaze fixed on Jack’s hands, long, slim fingers caressing the espresso machine.

“Vancouver,” Eugene replies after a moment of staring for too long.

“Cool, Canada,” Jack says, and none of his enthusiasm sounds faked. “What brings you over here?”

“I’m writing an article. Restaurant hot spots in London this season.”

Jack sets his coffee down in front of him, a mug the size of a bucket and a couple of biscuits and Eugene takes it gratefully, wrapping his hands around it to soak in the warmth.

“So you’re a journalist? That’s awesome!” Jack says, leaning forward and cupping his chin in one hand.

“Well, I mean, a food journalist. Restaurant reviews, things like that.” And this is usually the point when people start glazing over, when they realise that it’s not actually the exciting, cutting edge type of journalism.

Jack just looks intrigued. “Oh, cool! Have you ever been to anywhere really posh? Are you like, going to the Ritz or something?”

“I have, yeah, a few times. But here? I’m actually writing about some new places, places with a unique twist.”

“Ooooh, like what?” There’s no hint of sarcasm or mocking in anything about him.

Eugene takes a sip of his coffee and oh, that does pack quite a punch.

“Good, isn’t it?” Jack asks, sounding proud.

“I’ll reserve judgement until I’ve finished,” Eugene replies wryly. “I might end up bouncing off the walls.”

“Oh, we’re used to that,” Jack replies, rolling his eyes. “You should see the place during exam period. Students jittering all over the place.”

“You sound like you’re very familiar with that.” He takes another sip, licks it off his lips. Notes the way that Jack’s eyes dart down to watch. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?

“Well, I may have sampled a few in my own misspent student days.”

“What did you study?” Eugene asks, and god, is that too forward? That’s more like a - a date question.

“Art history,” Jack replies. “Hence working in a coffee shop,” he adds with an easy grin.

“You must be pretty familiar with the galleries round here then,” Eugene says. “I’ve always wanted to see them but just never had enough time in the city.”

“I guess,” Jack replies. “I have spent a lot of time in some of them.”

“You should show me sometime,” Eugene blurts out before he has a chance to think better of it. He really doesn’t want to think better of it.

Jack’s eyes widen and then a slow look of delight crosses his face. “I’d like that. How long are you here for?”

“Couple of weeks.” Which is why this is so, so stupid.

Jack grabs a napkin and scrawls across it, then presses it into Eugene’s hand. “My number,” he says. “If you want to, y’know…”

“That’s great,” Eugene replies, sliding it carefully into his pocket with his phone. He picks up the coffee and gestures to a table. “I should get some work done.”

“Right, of course!” Jack says. “Look at me, prattling on.”

“No, it was… it was good. I had fun.”

“Well great then!” Jack says brightly. “Me too. Good luck. With your article I mean.”

“Thanks.” he trails off and god, he’s still staring at him. He smiles again and then goes to sit down before things get weird. Maybe they already are weird and Jack was just humouring him.

He manages to finish his article and sends it off just after 6am, when even the coffee doesn’t stand much chance of keeping him awake anymore.

Jack’s dealing with the first of the morning customers along with a yawning coworker, so he only manages a brief but enthusiastic wave when Eugene says goodbye. 

He gets back to the hotel half an hour later, this time having to dodge the morning traffic and harried looking businessmen. He showers quickly before crawling into bed and falling into a blissful, dreamless sleep.

He wakes up a bit before two. He has a restaurant booked for tonight so he should really get lunch soon. His stomach growls in agreement.

He finds a crumpled napkin in his pocket and smooths it out to read the number written in slightly smeared but still legible biro. He thinks for a moment, considers. He’s only here for a couple of weeks. This cannot in any way end well.

But he remembers Jack’s smile, the enthusiasm and the way his hands had looked, slim and talented.

“You’re an idiot,” he mutters to himself as he taps out a quick message.


End file.
